


Sabotage

by Alterkrmn



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Awkwardness, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Musical References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alterkrmn/pseuds/Alterkrmn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Crowley fights with the autonomous musical decisions of his car and in fact the Bentley knows best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sabotage

**Author's Note:**

> I am very awkward when it's time to post a work, specially if it's for a fandom I've never written before. 
> 
> I wish to thank the wonderful [irisbleufic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic) , who helped this thing to be readable.
> 
> And thanks to all of you for reading this.

Fortunately, the first time it happened, he was alone.

Crowley had just left Aziraphale back in the bookshop after a very satisfying dinner and was driving to his own place to watch some telly and take a long long nap. After getting into the car, he turned on the stereo, attempting to play a Beethoven tape.  Instead, the Bentley greeted him with the first notes of _Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy_.

It was annoying, really, the car sabotaging his tapes, and he assumed that all the others would be in the same state, so he just rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses and kept driving.  He pressed the accelerator, because that was always a satisfying thing to do.

He was pleased with himself, having not let the music upset him—at least until he noticed he'd started to hum what the Blaupunkt spat through its speakers. "That," he said to himself, "is far more annoying."  But the worst part was, while singing that _blessed_ song, he couldn't stop thinking about the angel and their...encounters, meetings, or whatever they should call them (anything _except_ dates, of course).

"Ugh," Crowley said, exasperated with the vehicle, clenching his fists on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.  He drove furiously through the streets of London; eventually, he parked the Bentley, went to his flat, and slammed the door behind him.  Without bothering to undress, he tried (unsuccessfully) to sleep.

Determinedly, he did _not_ visit Soho for a week.

 

*     *     *

 

The next time it happened, Crowley wasn't so lucky.

After a while, he couldn't stand being alone (because, seriously, finding someone to drink with who doesn’t freak out when you start to hiss is _not_ easy), so he called Aziraphale.

“Hullo?” came the familiar voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, angel. How about dinner tonight at the Ritz?” He didn’t feel inclined to explain his absence. He disappeared from time to time, so it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, dear boy," replied Aziraphale.

“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at eight,” said Crowley, cheerfully, and hung up.

This time, Crowley checked his tapes to make sure none of them were currently _The Best of Queen_ albums and popped in some Velvet Underground. That was safe territory; nothing embarrassing could happen if he was listening to them, because nothing about this band could _possibly_ relate to Aziraphale, right? When the angel got into his car and Crowley ignited the engine, the tape somehow skipped from _The Ocean_ to the last track on Side B and the demon blushed furiously.

“Are you quite all right?” asked Aziraphale, noticing how Crowley was squirming uncomfortably in his seat.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.  I just...I was going to sneeze," he lied, and avoided looking at the angel at all costs.  He gritted his teeth, but didn’t try to stop the music, because Aziraphale seemed oblivious.  Drawing his attention to the lyrics didn't seem like the best idea.

_But with you by my side_

_I can do anything_

_When we swing_

_We hang past right or wrong._

Suddenly, the road seemed longer than it really was, and Crowley didn’t feel hungry anymore.  He tried to convince himself that it had just been a coincidence.

_I'll do anything for you_

_Anything you want me to_

_I'll do anything for you_

_Oh, I'm sticking with you_

_Oh, I'm sticking with you_

_Oh, I'm sticking with you_

His car was _not_ trying to expose him in front of Aziraphale. That was a ridiculous idea.  And, in the end, why the blazes _would_ he care about those bloody songs? If they reminded him of the angel, it was purely circumstantial.

He _wasn't_ feeling odd things toward his companion of six thousand years, not at _all._

 

*     *     *

 

The third time, Crowley knew it definitely _wasn't_ a coincidence.

The Blaupunkt turned on by itself and did not respond to his futile attempts to turn it off.  He was hitting the buttons _really_ hard. In that moment, he would've been grateful if suddenly Dagon (or someone else from Below) had decided it was a good time to deliver orders, or even a menacing message, but he was not so lucky.

Instead, Aziraphale placed a soft, gentle hand on Crowley's, steadying it.

Crowley froze. The touch was so unexpected that it felt like a slap: confusing, but strangely _nice._ Crowley definitely didn't know how to respond, so he stared blankly at the road.

"That's a nice song. You don't have to turn it off."  The angel smiled warmly, withdrawing his hand from Crowley's.  "It doesn't bother me in the least, my dear.  It's fine."

The demon blinked several times and turned to face his companion.  He attempted to speak, but Freddie Mercury's voice proved far more eloquent.

_I've been with you such a long time_

_You're my sunshine_

_And I want you to know_

_That my feelings are true_

_I really love you_

_You're my best friend._

“Really?” rasped Crowley, trying to find his voice, grateful his shades were in place.

Aziraphale nodded, his lips still curved in a subtle smile. “I think I may even like it. Sounds an awful lot like us, Crowley, don’t you think?”

Crowley’s stomach dropped and his heart quickened, making his cheeks feel hot. With great effort, he finally looked at the angel.  He took a deep breath and opened his mouth.

“Yes, I think it _does_ sound rather like us.”

 


End file.
